The Suitor
by Fleura45
Summary: Someone is murdering working girls on the streets of London. Dempsey and Makepeace investigate, and are pitted against a cunning killer. But their strained personal relationship threatens to hamper them, and could even lead them into danger.
1. Chapter 1

The shrill telephone bell broke into her sleep, but it rang three times before she came sufficiently awake to understand what it was.

Blearily, she reached across and lifted the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Makepeace? It's Spikings."

At the sound of his voice, she came alert.

"There's been another one. Kings Cross, again. I want you and Dempsey in my office in an hour."

Harry looked at the clock. 5.28 AM. She sighed.

"Got it sir. See you soon."

She hung up and turned on the bedside lamp, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and waiting for the fuzziness in her head to clear. Spikings' words echoed in her mind. Another one.

* * *

"Whoever he is, this sick bastard has a helluva sense of timing. Why'd he have to get us out of bed to deal with his activities?"

She'd picked Dempsey up and they were driving through the darkness. It was ten days before Christmas and at this hour the streets were quiet, in the brief lull between night and day.

"I don't think he picks his moments for our convenience," she mused. "The night's his time. He's never killed one yet in daylight hours. If it _is_ him."

"Oh, it's him. Sick bastard," Dempsey repeated.

Harry glanced at him. He was unshaven and his mood seemed blacker than usual. She gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. They hadn't been getting on lately. Not since they'd spent the night together four weeks ago, to be precise, after which she'd told him she cared about him but that they had to work together, and she didn't think a personal relationship was a good idea. He hadn't taken it very well but in true Dempsey fashion, he didn't want to discuss it. He just walked around like a bear with a sore head.

She felt confused and sad about the whole situation. She hadn't been lying when she had told him she cared, and in private moments she often thought about what they had shared that night - the specialness of it, his unbelievable tenderness - but she had worked so hard to get her career to the point it was at and she didn't want to throw that away through an ill-advised affair with her partner. He simply had no concept of how hard it was for a woman doing what most people thought was a man's job. Now his grumpiness was both annoying and distressing to her. She hoped things would improve between them, but so far, they hadn't.

When they arrived at SI10 headquarters, most of the team was already assembled. Dempsey poured himself a cup of instant coffee without offering Harry one, and they took their places around the briefing table. Two large pin boards displayed crime photographs and a map of the body locations. In contrast to these, the few limp Christmas decorations tacked around the drab room seemed garish and incongruous. She steeled herself for the latest revelations.

Spikings surveyed the room gravely.

"At approximately 5 am this morning," he began, "a body was discovered in an alley off York Way, Kings Cross. We don't have an official ID on it yet but initial accounts from the other girls in the vicinity, one of whom stumbled on the body, indicate that it belongs to a woman by the name of Elizabeth Jackson, aged 26. She was a prostitute."

There was silence. Spikings continued:

"Of course at this stage it's not possible for us to say for certain, but the MO points to this being the work of the killer known as the Suitor."

Dempsey and Harry glanced at one another. It was him. She had known it was, really. She just hadn't wanted it to be.

The Suitor was the nickname the police had for a man who was killing prostitutes in the red light districts of London. This was his forth victim, and the third in the Kings Cross area. Only one girl, Alice Smith, had been killed elsewhere, in Old St.

"Was it the usual calling card, Gov?" someone asked. Spikings nodded.

"'Afraid so, yes. She had been stabbed repeatedly and had her throat cut. And there was a ring and a rose, just like the others."

Harry shivered. In each of the cases, the victims had been found with an identical cheap plastic band on the ring finger of their left hand. In addition, there was always at least one red rose left on the body, in some cases two. It was almost as if the killer, in some twisted way, thought he was courting the girls. Hence the nickname.

She cleared her throat. "Any sightings sir?" she asked.

"Not of the man, no. A couple of the girls saw her get into a car though," he paused.

"The reason for this meeting is, as of now, the case is ours. He's killed approximately one girl a week for the past four weeks now and we don't want him to do it any more. The public are getting more agitated by the day."

"Why haven't the police told the girls to stay off the streets, Gov?" A junior officer asked.

Spikings laughed mirthlessly.

"They have, but it's bloody hopeless. It's not a matter of choice for most of them, they have habits to feed. They know it's dangerous but they do it anyway. So the only way to stop it is going to be to catch the bastard."

'There's one more thing," he glanced around the room and then up at the boards with their images of horror behind him.

"He's started taunting the police. Yesterday, Camden Town station received this." He held up a shiny red card.

"What is it Gov?"

"It's a bloody Christmas card,' said Spikings. Harry could see the front of it. '_Season's Greetings' _it said, above a holly wreath. He opened it and read aloud:

'_Dear friends, _

_I just wanted to tell you how much I'm enjoying my work, especially at this wonderful time of the year. The streets are so romantic just now don't you think? It really fills me with passion… I like to send my girls on to the next world pure and respectable. I save them from the shame of their profession by making honest women of them, ha ha._

_Till next time. A Merry Christmas to one and all.' _

No one spoke. Harry felt cold. Unconsciously, she moved closer to Dempsey. She looked around. She was the only woman in the room, and she had suddenly never felt more alone at SI10.

"Do we know if it's genuine, boss?" Chas spoke.

"It looks that way. The details about the rings and flowers haven't been made public. Although he doesn't mention them outright, it seems clear what the 'honest women' reference implies. "

Spikings looked across at them.

"Dempsey, Makepeace, I want you to get to interview some of the girls. We need to find this character, and find him fast."


	2. Chapter 2

It was mid-morning and they had been walking, then driving around Kings Cross for at least an hour, but there wasn't very much to see. In the aftermath of the murder the streets had emptied out, the winter daylight sending the girls scurrying home. The alley where Elizabeth's body had been found was cordoned off.

"S'gotta be a local guy."

Dempsey was back to chewing gum, she noticed. He'd taken over the driving now, and Harry looked out of the window at desolate north London.

"He's comfortable around here. And the girls are comfortable with him. Anyone unusual, not a typical punter, and they'd be suspicious. Working girls are savvy."

"Not savvy enough to avoid getting murdered," said Harry. "It is interesting though, that none of them have noticed anything. He blends in."

There had been hardly any leads to-date. The police were getting desperate; everyone hoped the intervention of SI-10 would help crack the case.

"That's what I'm tellin' ya. Guy's a regular. He knows how to put the girls at ease. You gotta talk to them a certain way, and they know you know the score."

"You sound like you know quite a lot about it Dempsey," she raised an eyebrow. "Much experience of hookers, have you?"

He scowled. "What's that supposed to mean? Jeez, can't I express an opinion without you making some snide comment?"

The angry bear was back. Harry sighed.

"_Control to Charlie five_" Chas's voice came over the intercom. She picked it up.

"Charlie five to control, over."

"Harry, we have a Tina Allen waiting for you to interview. She worked with Liz Jackson and saw her get in a car a couple of hours before she was found. "

"We're on our way, Chas." She turned to Dempsey.

"We need to get back to Base. Witness to interview. You want to be heading in the opposite direction."

He sucked in his breath irritably. "Makepeace, it's a one-way system. I can't just turn around!"

"I know that. If you turn down one of these side streets, we can take a short cut back to the junction though."

"Can you not tell me how to drive? You're always doing this, just because you've lived here longer. I can find my way around just as well as you, sweetheart."

"I'm not telling you how to drive; merely giving you a quicker way to go," he was making her hackles rise. "And don't call me sweetheart."

Even as she heard herself speak, she knew how she sounded: ice-cold and haughty. All the things he'd thought about her when they first met.

"Oh whatever" he almost shouted, and she gripped the dashboard as he swerved the car violently around a bend.

After a few minutes' silence she tried to ease the tension.

"Can we not fight please? It's almost Christmas. Whatever happened to peace on earth, goodwill to all men?"

He glanced at her. When he spoke, his voice was calmer.

"Don't think the suitor's heard of them things, even if he does like to send Christmas cards. Anyways," he coughed, "I ain't thought about Christmas. It's not like I've got anything special to do. Just another day to me."

His words stopped Harry in her tracks. How could she have not thought of it? Of course he didn't have anywhere to go for Christmas. He had no family in England. His friends were mainly SI10 colleagues, as far as she knew. She forced a laugh.

"Surely one of your adoring girlfriends has invited you round for turkey and mince pies?"

He snorted. "Adoring girlfriends? What are you talking about, Harry? Spend so much time doin' this job, I ain't got time for any of that."

Was it relief she felt at his words? If it was, it was quickly replaced by guilt. She didn't want to think of him alone at Christmas. Should she invite him to spend the day with her Father? It didn't have to mean anything, just a goodwill gesture to a partner away from home. _I'll speak to Daddy this evening,_ she thought.

When they got back to the office, Tina Allen was waiting for them in an interview room. Her bleached blond hair was pulled back tightly from her face and the fug of smoke in the room indicated that the cigarette she was pulling on was by no means the first. She looked much older than her 27 years, but the streets did that to you, Harry knew. Her heavy black eye makeup was smudged from crying.

They sat down opposite her. Dempsey leaned forward, and Harry gave him a warning look. _Be gentle_, her eyes said.

She didn't have to worry.

"Hey Tina," he reached over and patted her hand briefly. Harry was touched by the softness in his voice. She remembered his angry outburst in the car. At times like that, it was easy to forget this other side to him. _He's complex_, she thought.

"I know it must be really hard on you, thinkin' about that's happened to Liz, but we need you remember whatever you can. Might help us catch the man who did it to her. Now you saw Liz get into a car?"

Tina looked up. She drew heavily on her cigarette, then nodded quickly.

"Yeah I saw 'im. The geezer. Not 'is face up close like, but his silhouette. And the car. It was sort of a maroon colour, y'know? Dark red?"

"That's good, Tina." Harry smiled at her encouragingly. "Do you know what make it was?"

"Naah, I'm rubbish with cars" she gave a weak smile. "About the last thing I worry about when 'am working. It was newish lookin', I suppose."

"What about the guy?" Dempsey studied her. "Try and remember, anything at all."

"Like I said, it was dark and I didn't see his face. It all 'appened so fast. One minute me an' Liz was stood at our regular spot, then he comes along and we hugged goodbye. I said I'd meet 'er at the corner in an hour. But she never come back."

Her eyes filled again. Harry looked at her urgently. "We want to catch him Tina," she said. "We need him to stop doing this. Is there anything – _anything at all_ – that sticks out?"

Tina closed her eyes. "I think 'e was blond, as far as I could see," she said. "And not skinny. Not old, not young. That's all."

She stubbed out her cigarette, leaned back and sighed deeply.

"Can I go now? Me kid's at me Mum's. I gotta pick 'er up."

"Of course. Thank you Tina." Harry smiled. "I'm so sorry about Liz. We're going to get this man."

"You'd better." Dempsey escorted her out of the interview room. Harry stared at the still-smoldering cigarette butt in the over-flowing ashtray. She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days had passed since Elizabeth Jackson's murder, and they had worked on it solidly. So far though, nothing had come up that was going to help them solve the case. They had interviewed girls and their pimps - when they could find them - not to mention dealers, dog walkers and residents of the flats that backed on to the alleyway where she was found.

Just like on all the other occasions, no one had heard or seen a thing. The Suitor killed the girls quickly, left his calling card, and then simply vanished into the night.

He was clever, Dempsey thought. In one of the most built-up areas of the city, he found quiet places to do his work, where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. And he had the luck of the devil. Once the girls got into his car, they were as good as dead. No one had come forward with a story of escaping him, or even of being approached by someone suspicious. They were dealing with a predator completely in tune with his habitat.

The SI 10 office was a-buzz with activity. Tonight should have been the squad Christmas party, but it had been postponed until further notice.

"I want you all working flat-out on this job," Spikings had told them. "If we catch him before Christmas, I'll personally see to it that the bar stays open all night."

This announcement had prompted a few mumbles of discontent, but Dempsey couldn't have agreed more.

"We get him, I'll be the drunkest person in the place," he said to Harry. "WHEN we get him."

She knew Dempsey when he was hot to solve a case. He had that restless air, jumping up every five minutes, pacing around and trying to galvanize the others into action. Again and again, he studied the pin boards with their images of the victims. And Harry approached it in the same way she always did, too: methodically re-reading the stack of witness statements they had taken, searching for any tiny missed detail that might spark something.

She looked across at him; his feet were on the desk and he was staring into space. In his hands, in protective plastic casing, was the Christmas card that the killer had sent the police.

The provenance of the card was still a mystery. Forensics had turned up no fingerprints. It had been posted from central London and processed through one of the three main sorting offices in the area – not much for them to go on given the amount of mail that passed through every day. A Graphologist had analyzed the handwriting but without samples to compare it to, the findings were useless.

Spikings appeared and surveyed the room, glowering. Someone had stuck a sprig of mistletoe above his office door, but Harry doubted there would be many candidates for a kiss. He carried all the Christmas cheer of an angry bulldog.

"Dempsey, Makepeace. A word in my office please."

He disappeared again.

"What've we done now?" Dempsey tossed the card to one side and stood up. She made a face at him as if to say, _search me_.

"I need an update from you on the Suitor case," Spikings said, when they were standing in front of him.

"Time is ticking on and I would like to avoid another girl dying right before Christmas if I possibly can. And he must be starting to get the itch again. It's been three days."

They looked at each other.

"The thing is sir…" Harry began, "it's quite uncanny how few clues he seems to leave behind. I can't remember another case like it."

"She's right," Dempsey agreed, "it's driving me crazy, boss. I know we'll get a break, it's just when – and if it's in time."

"And time is what we don't have." Spikings steepled his fingers and fixed his gaze on each of them in turn. "So what are we going to do?"

Dempsey opened his mouth to speak but Harry got there first.

"It's obvious Sir. I was going to suggest it right after the last body was found, but I hoped we'd have more luck with the leads. You need to put me undercover."

Dempsey gazed at her incredulously. "Are you serious? Kind of dangerous, don't you think?"

She glanced at him quickly. _Thanks for showing solidarity, partner_.

"I think it makes perfect sense, actually. How else are we going to have a chance of catching him? We know exactly where he hunts for victims, we know he most likely has a maroon car. At this stage, I think I need to do it."

He turned to Spikings, "Chief, she gets in this guy's car, we got no way of controlling the situation. It's too risky."

Harry's heart started beating faster and she fought to keep her temper. How dare he oppose her so blatantly?

"Lieutenant," she said coldly, "I'll be armed. I'm extremely proficient with a weapon - I think even you would have to admit to that, since I've saved your skin using it on several occasions. I can be wired up. It's not a problem."

Just then, Chas poked his head around the door.

"Dempsey, I've got a trace on the rings. Turns out they're cracker toys."

They all looked at him. He maneuvered himself so he was standing completely inside the room.

"They're quite unusual actually. The rings themselves are made in China, but the crackers they go into are fairly rare. Handmade. There are only six shops in the whole country that stock them, and only one in London. If we go and speak to the owner, we might get some information on who's been buying them."

Dempsey's eyes lit up. "Chas, that's great! Good man!"

He appealed to Spikings. "This sounds like a pretty solid lead. Why don't we go check it out first? Putting Sergeant Makepeace under cover should be a last resort."

Spikings considered them both. Harry stood erect, arms folded.

"Dempsey, on this occasion, I'm inclined to concur with your partner. She can look after herself. Sergeant, get yourself a wire. We'll start the undercover operation tonight."

"Right, Sir." She glared briefly at Dempsey before she turned on her heel and stalked from the office. Dempsey followed in her wake, tension radiating from him.

Spikings sat back in his chair and shook his head at Chas. Whatever it was that was going on with those two, he wished they would bloody well sort it out.


	4. Chapter 4

They were in the car park outside the office and Harry was staring at him furiously, hands on her hips. It was late afternoon and bitterly cold, but she scarcely seemed to notice.

"What's eating you?" he asked, knowing his words were likely to provoke her further. She had left Spikings' office looking ready to explode. Then she'd requested a chat 'in private', which knowing Harry, was more ominous than it was inviting.

"You completely undermined me in there!" Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. Impatiently, she swiped away a strand of stray hair. God, he thought. She was gorgeous when she was this angry.

"It's happening more and more often, Dempsey and I'm sick of it!"

He made to put his hand on her arm and then thought the better of it.

"Come on Harry," he contrived to make his tone as soothing as possible. "It's only 'cos I'm concerned for your safety. You take things too personal. It'd be the same with any partner of mine. This guy's dangerous."

He could see he needed to calm her down, to be the placatory one. It didn't seem to be working, though.

"With any partner? Like a male one? I don't think so," she said.

He didn't answer. _Don't bring this up again_. _We've been over it a-thousand –and-one-times._

"What happened just now was the last straw."

"What's that meant to mean?" He folded his arms.

"It means I've had it, Dempsey. Your mood swings, your bad temper. I'm not sure I can work with you anymore."

If her intention was to rile him, she was certainly succeeding. _She _not able to work with _him_? That was a laugh. She stared at him fixedly and he eyeballed her right back.

"Oh really Sergeant, is that so?" He enunciated slowly, each word drenched in sarcasm. "Well let me tell you something. Lately, all I've been thinkin' bout's been gettin' a one-way ticket out of here, back to New York City."

He felt a certain gratification when he saw the way her eyes widened at his words.

"Let's face it, this ain't workin' for either of us."

She didn't answer, so he plunged on.

"I mean, you wanna go undercover lookin' for a maniac who stabs women and slashes their throats. You get mad at me for suggestin' it's not such a good idea, when we both know that less than a month ago you were kidnapped and nearly killed in that house in Buckingham. And you're still not over it."

"What on earth are you talking about?" She tilted her chin, but he'd got to her, he knew he had.

"You may not want to face up to it Harry, but it affected you, and it affected you bad. You really wanna put yourself through something that could be similar, or even worse?"

Her anger had completely dissipated now. She shivered in the gathering gloom and pulled her mohair sweater more closely around her. To Dempsey, she suddenly seemed smaller, more vulnerable.

"I don't see what choice I have," she said quietly. "I've got to carry on - it's the job. If I start worrying about what might happen every time we get into a dangerous situation, I might as well hand my badge in. It was a bad case, but I'll deal with it. I just need time."

They had moved closer together and were only aware of each other, oblivious to the bleak car park around them.

"Do you think I don't think about that day, Harry?" he said softly. " Do you think I don't play it back in my mind – thinkin' you might be dead? Do you think I don't think about how it ended?"

Their eyes met. She let herself remember – how they had kissed. At first they were 'glad to be alive' kisses, but that had quickly turned into something else, and the passion that had ignited between them - the bliss of finally giving in to something that had been building for so long - had been almost frightening in its intensity. When she thought about it later, that night seemed almost like a dream. But here, looking into his face, it felt all too real again.

"Of course I do," she whispered finally.

"Can you blame for for findin' it hard, spendin' so much time with you when you won't see me out of work?"

"That day was one of the hardest of my life. And you were there for me when I needed you. But I told you at the time. In the real world, we work together James. We're partners, not lovers."

He looked away but not before she saw the hurt in his eyes.

It was several moments before he spoke. "You can't tell me you don't feel something for me, cos I don't believe it. I remember how it was with us too well."

She shook her head. "You're not listening to me. It's harder for me than it is for you. Every promotion I've had, I've had to work three times as hard as a man in the same position. And I don't want to throw that away. You have an affair with me; no one cares. The rumour goes around that I'm sleeping with my partner, any authority I have is completely undermined."

The words made sense so why did saying them make her feel so empty?

"We could get around that," he said, "If you really wanted to. Why don't you just admit it, Harry? I ain't exactly your type. I don't fit into your world, do I?"

Adrenalin surged through her. Was he going to throw her background at her again?

"That's untrue and unfair."

'Is it?"

"You know it is." To her annoyance, she felt the tears come.

"That is NOT the reason. As a matter of fact I was going to invite you to come and spend Christmas with my Father and me at Winfield Hall. He was looking forward to having you. _That's_ how much I think I'm above you, Dempsey!"

She turned and began walking quickly back in the direction of the office, leaving Dempsey to absorb it. Despite everything, a grin spread over his face. She had invited him for Christmas.

"Hey Harry, listen – I'm sorry. I didn't mean it…" he trotted to catch her up.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," She blinked her eyes rapidly. "Let's focus on the operation, okay? I want to do this undercover, Dempsey. In a strange way, I think it'll help me. Please understand."

"Sure angel, whatever. Just don't cry okay?"

"I'm not!" She gave him a watery smile and disappeared inside. Dempsey stared unhappily after her. She was the last person on earth he'd ever want to hurt, so why did it feel as if he had managed to?


	5. Chapter 5

Late evening, and Dempsey was padding around his apartment, trying and completely failing to relax. Harry would be out in Kings Cross by now. She was wired up and there was a team parked just around the corner, tuned into her every move. Earlier, Spikings had looked at his glum face and advised him to go home and get some rest.

"You look like you need it," he said. "We'll call you the moment anything happens."

He had protested violently, but even Harry had pushed him to stay away.

"Chances are, nothing's going to go on this evening. You're done-in. No sense both of us staying up all night. Why don't you get some sleep? Then you can be fresh for following up the lead on the ring tomorrow morning."

Reluctantly, he had agreed. The way things were between them, after today's heated discussion and with the general tension, he had the uncomfortable feeling that it wasn't just for the good of his health that she wanted him to stay away. They couldn't afford any distractions. So this was what happened when you got involved with your partner, he thought bitterly. Everything became suddenly more complicated.

Damn it, why had they paired him with a woman in the first place? He didn't need this kind of emotional crap - disagreements getting under his skin and affecting his ability to do his job.

Restlessly, he flicked through the TV channels, drank a beer, picked at a sandwich. He couldn't seem to settle to anything. He got up and peered out of the window. Across the street below, an office party was in full swing in the Irish pub on the corner. The windows were steamed up and gaudy Christmas lights twinkled around the door. A couple of people were leaving already, pulling their collars up against the December chill.

It was a bitter night, and there would be frost in the morning. Harry was going to be freezing. What had they kitted her out in, anyway? A mini skirt and fish nets probably, to blend her in with the local colour. He hoped she had some decent thermal underwear. _Oh pull yourself together, fool. _

Half an hour later, things were no better. He tried reading a book, but the words ran together and he realized he'd been staring unseeingly at the same page for five minutes. He gave up and checked his watch. Just after 9pm.

_Hell, it can't hurt to swing over and see how things are going. She doesn't even need to know I'm there_.

A few minutes later, he was out on the chilly pavement, headed for Kings Cross.

* * *

On York Way, Harry was indeed feeling the cold. She stood with Tina, the prostitute they had interviewed a few days ago, and blew on her hands as they watched the slow procession of cars streaming past, and occasionally stopping.

"Quiet tonight, 'arry" said Tina. "Not many of the regular punters around. Maybe they got more commitments at this time of year."

"Do you know most of them, then?" she asked curiously.

"A lot of them, yeah." Tina threw her cigarette end on the floor and ground it down with the toe of her stiletto. "Nine out of ten punters is regulars. Most of them are okay. Just normal geezers really, harmless enough. You get the odd weirdo."

"When you say weirdo…"

"Into strange stuff, y'know. Kinky. Or sometimes, they want to 'it yer. That's why we work in pairs. Look out for each other."

"So the 'weird' ones," Harry persisted, "do any of them stand out? Can you think of someone who's frightened you? Or maybe one of the other girls mentioned something?"

Tina shook her head. "That's the funny thing," she said. "Lately – until all this started – things have been good. I really couldn't tell yer when I last 'ad a bad punter. No knockings about, no threats, nothin'. I knew it couldn't last."

Ahead of them, a car slowed and stopped. A tall girl in turquoise satin pants appeared from out of the shadows. After a brief negotiation, she opened the door and climbed in. As they drove past, Harry got a glimpse of the man's face: middle-aged, non-descript. This was the problem with 'punters', she thought - they didn't look like the bogeyman. They looked like your next-door neighbour, because they probably were.

She scratched her stomach absently. The nylon boob tube she wore was rough and itchy against her skin.

"Remember Tina, we're looking for that car, the one you saw. I'll be here as long as it takes. I just hope I'm blending in."

"Oh, you're blendin' in alright," Tina said, taking in Harry's knee-high black patent boots, PVC mini skirt and heavy eye makeup. "In fact, I bet you're creatin' quite a stir. Might be hard to explain that you're unavailable."

Harry smiled wryly. _I'm willing to do a lot of things in the line of duty, _she thought,_ but turning tricks in Kings Cross isn't one of them_.

At midnight, she was starting to flag. Tina had disappeared into a regular's car, and she was alone on their spot, in the quiet and cold. She checked her bra for the wire – it was still fixed firmly in place. Her feet ached, unaccustomed to the ridiculously high boots. _As soon as Tina gets back,_ she thought_, I'll nip around the corner to the surveillance van and beg a cup of tea_. She had definitely earned a break.

Then, out of the darkness, she saw the headlights of a car. It moved slowly along before it pulled up next to her. The passenger window was half open, and the man inside leaned across the seat in invitation. She hung back, and was about to come out with her well-rehearsed line about waiting for a regular to show up, when she noticed the colour. It was maroon.

She glanced around. Tina was nowhere in sight. Could it be him? She did a quick calculation in her head. There was no harm in getting in and chatting a bit. The squad was listening to every word; they were minutes away. If nothing else, it would get her into the warm for a while.

She leaned down into the passenger window and smiled at the man ingratiatingly. "Alright?"

"Hello love," he smiled back. His eyes were kind. "Regular rates, is it?"

She nodded, her pulse quickening despite herself. "Hop in then," he said. Harry took a deep breath and opened the passenger door.


	6. Chapter 6

She slid into the car and tried to ignore the pounding of her heart. They pulled away from the curb and headed down the road towards Kings Cross station. Neither of them spoke.

Being in such sudden close proximity to the man – a stranger – was a peculiar feeling. She hoped her nerves weren't as obvious as she thought they must be; she was so tense, she could barely sit still.

There was a vaguely sweet smell that she couldn't put her finger on - air freshener, probably. The interior was unremarkable. She glanced behind her; the back seemed clean, but there was a child's car seat. She saw a few toys strewn around: expensive-looking wooden animals, painted bright colours. Harry felt queasy and relieved in equal measure. Queasy at the thought that someone could pick up a prostitute in the same vehicle he transported his young children in; relieved that surely their presence made him less likely to be the killer. The man they were hunting was a loner - there was nothing in the profile to say that he was a family man.

When they reached the traffic lights, he spoke. "Mind if I drive a bit further?" His voice was soft and faintly cultured. "There's a place under the St Pancras railway arches I know where we can have some peace and quiet, but we have to go around the one-way system to get there."

A memory flashed through her mind: she and Dempsey driving around the one-way system three days ago, arguing. Dempsey. She wished he were here with her.

"Yeah okay," she said, hoping her cockney accent would stand up, "but I have to be back for another punter soon. Time is money an' all that."

"Don't worry, I'll pay you for any time we go over."

He looked over, appraising her. She felt his eyes on her legs in their fishnet stockings. Her tiny skirt had ridden up almost to her crotch and Harry, unaccustomed to any indecorum, felt terribly exposed.

She sensed, rather than saw, him smile. "You're new," he said. "I haven't picked you up before."

"Yeah, that's right. I usually work in Shoreditch. Just keepin' a mate company tonight."

"Well I'm glad you did." They were moving around the junction at the centre of Kings Cross, and the lights from the bars and clubs afforded her a better look at him. Just like the other punter, he was non-descript. Forties. Pale, thinning hair. Harry thought of Tina describing the man whose car Liz had got into. "_Not skinny. Not old, not young."_ It covered half the population. Still, she shivered.

"Cold?" He reached forward and adjusted the heater on the dashboard.

"A bit."

They drove in silence for a while. They were almost in Islington before the road looped back towards St Pancras. The frozen streets were quiet, with only the odd drunken reveler in evidence.

_What do I tell him when we stop and he expects me to perform?_

She decided just to come clean about the police operation. It would be embarrassing for him, and given his situation, he was bound to be terrified of being arrested and exposed but she could reassure him that no charges would be pressed.

They had reached a quiet side street.

"Hey," he said suddenly. "Did you know Liz?"

"Liz?"

"The girl that was murdered. Her spot was right where I picked you up."

Involuntarily, her heart started hammering again.

"Oh yeah," she willed herself to be calm; "I mean, I didn't know her really. That's why I'm here though - lookin' out for my mate. She feels vulnerable bein' alone. You know?"

"I can imagine."

The car had slowed to a crawl. To their right were the railway arches and built underneath each of them, what appeared to be lock-up facilities. The street lighting was minimal.

She was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. The darkness meant that her other senses were heightened, and she didn't like the feeling she was getting from the man. The sweet smell was in her nostrils: cloying, unpleasant. It was time to end it. She waited until he stopped the car under an archway.

'Sir" she said, in her normal voice. "I'm afraid this is a little awkward under the circumstances. You see I'm actually a police officer investigating the prostitute murders that have been occurring in this area."

He didn't react at all, just looked at her.

"I know who you are. I realized when you got in beside me," he said. Then he smiled. She was confused.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

Their eyes met.

"I'd been expecting you," he gazed at her steadily. "Ever since I saw you and your colleague nosing around the other day. Fancy picking you up, though - I honestly didn't recognize you." He glanced down her body.

"What a wonderful transformation."

Harry's stomach had turned to liquid. She tried to speak, but her throat seemed to have closed up.

Suddenly, he reached down and retrieved something from below his seat. It was a red rose.

"You make a truly authentic whore, do you know that?" His voice was flat, emotionless.

The smell made sense. Terror like she had never known was coursing through her veins. _Oh God, oh Holy Christ, it's him. It's the Suitor._

Then instinct took over. In one movement, her gun was out from the concealed holster and she was yelling, at him and down the wire to the surveillance unit, simultaneously.

"Get your hands up! Get them up!" Chas, Tom – I need back up NOW. Location is St Pancras railway arches off Euston Rd. Just get here, do you read me?"

But instead of putting his hands up, he started the engine. He reversed the car, and sped off again. Harry shouted desperately. "I said stop! Stop, or I'll shoot!"

He ignored her completely. They were traveling away from the railway, in the direction of Camden Town.

In the distance, she could hear the whine of a police siren. She still had the gun trained on him, but the situation felt as if it was slipping out of her control. They came to an industrial estate, and abruptly, he turned into it.

"You've got ten seconds to stop this car, or I'm going to shoot you," she ordered him. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, throwing her forward onto the dashboard.

Before she had chance to recover, he lunged at her and grabbed the gun. His homely, middle-aged appearance belied his strength, and her wrist was snapped back painfully, forcing her to let it go. Then the weight of his whole body was over her. She struggled beneath him, but he grabbed her hair and began to slam her head against the passenger window.

Just before she lost consciousness, she reached down and pushed the door handle. She fell backwards onto the pavement as the sound of the siren became deafening. The man pulled the door shut and floored the accelerator.

The squad car came squealing around the corner. Harry was lying crumpled on the pavement; the maroon car was nowhere in sight. Dempsey took seconds to reach her. She was unconscious, and blood was running from a wound on her temple. He touched her neck and felt the weak pulse there.

"Get an ambulance Chas, quickly!" he cradled her head.

"You're gonna be okay baby," he whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

_In the dark, he paced up and down. Occasionally, unconsciously, he cried out in fury, but there was no one around to hear him. _

_Tonight had been a major lapse in judgement. He hadn't recognised the girl until she was in the car beside him and he could see her up close – her disguise was good. But her hair had given her away – it was the main thing he had noticed three days ago, as he observed her and her partner poking around the crime scene. He loved returning to the place he'd done his work, to soak up the atmosphere in the stark light of day. The far end of platform one at Kings Cross station gave him an unimpeded view of York Way; he had found that as a train spotter, he became even more invisible than usual. People literally looked through you, even cops a lot of the time. Those two hadn't even registered his presence. _

_She had made him show weakness, and for that he was indescribably angry. When he understood who she was, he should have stopped and got rid of her, but the temptation had been too great. The Suitor rarely lost control, and now he had. It wasn't even his right time for killing, but her presence, her smell, the blond hair: it had all been too much. He had decided there and then that he had to possess this one – she was special. _

_Now he had to deal with the consequences. He had come very close to getting caught. He would need to lie low for a while. And as for the Sergeant… well, he planned to use certain of his contacts to find out a little more about her. He could wait. And when the time was right, they would meet again and he could finish what he started. She was special all right – too special to let go. The thought calmed him, and a smile played momentarily on his thin lips. _

* * *

Her dreams were full of darkness and fear, and seemed to be interminable. They bled into each other. At some level she knew she was sleeping; she tried desperately to wake, but somehow never could. Now she was running frantically down a corridor. It was vital that she got to the end because chasing her was _the man_, and if he caught her, he would kill her. The bones in her legs had dissolved, and her progress was tortuously slow. She tried to use her gun but her fingers, like her legs, were devoid of any strength and she couldn't depress the trigger. Ahead, at the door, Dempsey was holding his arms out to her, willing her to move faster. Behind her, the man was gaining, gaining…

Harry came awake, her heart hammering. She opened her eyes, and at first, she didn't understand. The room was white, that was wrong – and her bedclothes were white too. The pillow felt unfamiliar against her cheek: scratchy, with a faintly chemical smell. She turned her head slightly, and to her surprise, saw Dempsey, uncomfortably asleep in a plastic armchair next to her. What was he doing here?

Then it came back. Kings Cross, and Tina. The car. The man. Him on top of her, the two of them grappling… and then falling backwards into darkness. Her stomach contracted and she had to fight a wave of nausea as she remembered the moment when she had understood who he was. His eyes… she would never forget those eyes.

There was something wrong with her head. Gingerly, she put her fingers up and felt bandages. There was pain too. She must have smashed it falling out of the car. Experimentally, she flexed her limbs. Other than the head wound, she seemed to be all right. A miracle. In the chair, Dempsey stirred. She watched his lids flutter open, dark pupils struggling to focus.

"Hi" she whispered. He looked at her, confused. Then, as it had for her, understanding dawned.

"Angel." He sat up straight, quickly alert. 'How ya feelin'? The doc says it's just a little bump. You're gonna be fine in no time."

"I'm okay," she said, but she knew her face probably told him otherwise. Suddenly, all she wanted was to have him close to her, to remove the pain.

He seemed to read her thoughts. Wordlessly, he moved to the bed and took her in his arms. He held her for a long time.

'I'm sorry," she said at last, speaking slowly, not trusting the tears to stay away.

"Whaddya mean?"

"I was such a fool. Getting into that car. Trying to prove a point. You were right."

"Listen angel, I shoulda been there. Some partner I was."

"But, I told you not to come. I was so focussed on showing everyone I could handle the situation – " she pulled back then, looked at him. His brown eyes were full of tenderness, and she couldn't help thinking of their contrast with the killer's. He stroked her hair.

"Harry, you was just unlucky. Damned unlucky. That you lived to tell the tale at all's the only thing that matters."

She didn't want to think too much about that.

"What happened after I…?"

"Sonofabitch got away. We had backup units all over the area within two minutes but somehow he slipped through the net."

She sat back against the pillows, taking it in. Dempsey returned to the chair.

"I froze, Dempsey," she said slowly. "I couldn't shoot him. Something inside me… I just couldn't do it."

"It all happened so fast, that's what it was," he said, not meeting her eye. "You was in shock. He was driving at 50 miles an hour. Extreme situation."

She shook her head. "Maybe. I don't know. I'll tell you something though," she fingered the stiff material of the hospital sheet, "I've never seen anyone so cold. We looked at each other, and I knew. His eyes…it was like gazing into the abyss. After that, I lost it a bit."

She looked so desolate, with her bruised face and bandaged head, Dempsey's heart contracted. The truth was, he had been asking himself all night why she hadn't pulled the trigger while the man was driving. But going over it wasn't going to help, and would knock her confidence down even further.

"Listen kid," he said awkwardly, "I gotta go and follow up some of those leads this afternoon. Remember the cracker toy place Chas found? I'll drop by later on. Spikings'll be here in a while too; you can work on the e-fit with him. Hey," he smiled at her in what he hoped was an optimistic way, "so we didn't catch him, but one of us has been up close enough that when the bastard comes on our radar again, we're gonna by 100% sure of him."

Harry shuddered. "Okay," she sighed, "tell Spikings to bring the case files when he comes will you? I don't know how long they're going to keep me in here but I'm not going to sit around doing nothing until they let me out."


	8. Chapter 8

The shop that stocked the crackers was in East Finchley, a suburb in the north London wilderness that Dempsey hadn't visited before. He walked along, shoulders hunched against the cold. It was December 19, a bitter day. The trees in the park to his left were leached of colour and the sky was leaden: he could smell snow.

He was not in a good mood. After leaving the hospital, he'd gone straight to the SI-10 office and picked up the brief. He was unshaven and sore from his snatched hours of sleep on the hospital chair, and his neck ached like hell.

Harry had barely escaped with her life last night. Damn it, he had known her going under cover was just too dangerous – a step too far. Try telling her that - or anything else - at the moment, though. The best way to ensure she did something was to tell her it wasn't a good idea. Beneath the multitude of surface differences the two of them were curiously similar, he thought: wilful, stubborn and determined; never mind that she prided herself on doing things by the book while chastising him for his more intuitive approach.

Seeing her lying on the pavement with the blood running down her temple had been terrible. Later, when he knew she was alright, he had sat for a long time, watching her sleep and trying to sort through a mixture of emotions: anger, yes – but also the overwhelming awareness that losing her would be devastating. He had been conscious that he was in love with her for some time; certainly since the night they had spent together. But this knowledge only seemed to serve to make their relationship more fraught. They argued constantly, stuck in a terrible impasse. And when something like this happened… it devastated him in a way that he knew affected his ability to be circumspect, to focus dispassionately on the job. But what was the alternative? Leave and never see her again? He wasn't yet ready to consider that as an option.

He had reached the shop. _Bojangles_, the sign above the door said, and underneath: _Specialists in unusual and high quality toys and games._ The window was crammed with toys of all shapes and sizes: dolls, teddy bears, train sets and brightly coloured bouncy balls. Tinsel and fake snow adorned the display to add a festive feel. The interior brightly lit and looked inviting. Grateful to get out of the cold, Dempsey pulled open the door.

Inside was a maze of shelves. Plush animals spilled from boxes, and a beautiful wooden train set was laid out in an intricate display on the floor, accessible to children. There were no other customers, and the small counter towards the back was unstaffed. Dempsey wandered around. His gaze fell on a prominent Christmas rack by the counter. On the bottom were boxes of handmade crackers. He moved forward for a closer look.

As he bent down, he heard a cough. A tall, gangly youth of about 18, with a smattering of pimples and red curly hair, had appeared from a back room. He smiled politely at Dempsey.

"Good afternoon. Can I help you?"

He was aware he probably wasn't the shop's usual type of customer.

"Afternoon. I was wondering if I could have a look at some of these crackers you have down there."

'Of course," the boy hurried around the counter. "How many were you looking for…?"

He lifted up one of the buff-coloured boxes. There were 12 crackers visible in the clear window, their bright glowing colours contrasting pleasingly with the dull packaging. He handed it to Dempsey.

"These are quite unusual you know. All hand made by a lady in Wales. We've been stocking them for a few years. They cost a bit more than the mass produced ones, but they're very popular."

Dempsey felt the weight of them. Substantial. "Can I ask your name, son?"

"It's Jack."

"Pleased to meet you Jack, I'm Lieutenant Dempsey. The thing is, I'm not strictly looking to buy crackers today. I'm a police officer and I'm investigating a crime. I'm interested in the toys that may be contained in these crackers."

Jack blinked at him. "Oh – I see."

He nodded. "It's not very festive, sorry. In particular, I'm interested in some rings – women's rings?"

"I know the ones you mean - plastic, with sparkles? They come in different colours. Little girls love them. We sell them on their own too." He gestured towards another display. Dempsey went over to have a look.

"Say, Jack. Don't suppose you keep sales records here, do you? Or maybe you have a list of regular customers? I'd be interested to know if there was anyone who was buying these, maybe in bulk?"

The boy shook his head. "I have to tell you Lieutenant, I'm very curious. Can I ask what this is connected to?"

"'Fraid not. Let's just say it's important."

"I'm sorry, I only work here a couple of days a week. The owner, Mr Jenkins, might know more. He's in the back at the moment, doing the accounts. I can go and get him if you like."

"Sure, that'd be great, thanks."

Jack turned to leave but before he could, an older, mild-mannered-looking man appeared in the doorway to the back of the shop. He was dressed a brown cardigan and thick glasses.

"Is everything alright, Jack?" he enquired, looking quizzically at Dempsey.

"Oh, hi Mr Jenkins," Jack began, "I was just coming to find you. Lieutenant Dempsey here's a police officer. He's investigating a crime and he's got some questions about those rings we sell, the ones that go in the Welsh crackers. He wondered whether we keep a record of people who've been buying them."

Mr Jenkins considered Dempsey over his spectacles. "Oh yes? Well, I might be able to help, Lieutenant. I do keep records of some of our more regular customers. Marketing purposes, you know. We send out newsletters occasionally. I can check back through the records to see whether anybody has bought crackers or rings of late."

He pulled out a large hard back log from underneath the counter and came around to join Dempsey. Jack had disappeared. Dempsey watched as he began to flick through the pages.

"You been in this business long?" he asked.

"Years. I fell in love with toys and games from an early age."

"Get much trade, tucked away in this corner of the world?"

"Oh, people find us somehow. You'd be amazed."

He glanced up, looked at Dempsey levelly. Dempsey gave him a mild grin, but here was something about the man's eyes he didn't like. He wasn't sure whether he'd want any kid of his hanging around in here.

His eyes fell to the log book as Mr Jenkins turned the pages slowly. They were crammed with neat handwritten notes; lines and lines of meticulously logged purchase information.

Something was niggling the back of his brain. The handwriting – there was something familiar about it. As if he'd seen it before, maybe in a dream. The way it sloped sideways… it was distinctive. Then it came to him.

_I just wanted to tell you how much I'm enjoying my work, especially at this wonderful time of the year. _

He had a flush of understanding. Mr Jenkins: middle-aged, mild mannered. As if reading his thoughts, the man looked up at him and smiled.

"Lieutenant?"

What had Harry said? "_His eyes… I've never seen anyone so cold."_ He knew what she meant now. They stared at each other for a second, and then Dempsey's hand flew towards the pistol under his jacket.

But Mr Jenkins was quicker.


	9. Chapter 9

_Just for xLaramiex... _

In her hospital bed, Harry was restless. Spikings had been and gone, having questioned her closely. She told him everything she could remember, tried to give a detailed description of the man. She was ashamed to find that the memories from the car were somewhat hazy, a combination of the bang on the head and the shock and trauma.

Spikings appeared somewhat sheepish; Harry guessed he felt guilty about allowing her to go undercover in the first place. She was glad Dempsey was absent by then – she had sensed his suppressed anger earlier, and while she knew he felt unable to attack her directly after what she had been through, she imagined he wouldn't extend the same courtesy to the Chief.

They had dosed her with painkillers, but there wasn't really anything else they could do. She wanted to go home as soon as possible, but they were keeping her in for a few more hours 'just for observation.' "I'm not concussed," she'd complained, but the nurse held firm.

Now she looked around at the dismal off-white walls. Nothing happening – only her thoughts for company. She didn't really want to go back there - to last night – but it was hard to stay away. Did Tina know what had happened? Harry hoped against hope that she wouldn't be out on the streets tonight. It was desperate, the choice these women faced. No choice at all. It made her so angry. _I should be out there looking for him again. This isn't over yet. _

She'd been unlucky, of course she had. Still, her mind kept slipping back to her disagreement with Dempsey yesterday. She had been so adamant that she wanted to go undercover, despite the fact that she knew it was risky. Lately, she had been behaving increasingly recklessly, almost as though she wanted to deliberately push herself into ever more dangerous situations.

She stared through the small window of her hospital room. The only view was of a concrete wall, but she didn't see it. She was deep in thought.

Since the kidnap in Buckinghamshire and the face-off with Delaney, she felt out of control. Something had changed that day, Dempsey was right. She had looked death in the face and once the euphoria of survival wore off, she was left with the realisation that her old, unshakeable self-confidence was shattered. She had begun to question whether she was really cut out for the job, but she was terrified to admit that – to herself, much less to anyone else – so instead she dealt with it by tackling everything head-on, trying to erase what had happened and prove herself again.

Last night was a classic example, and look where it had got her – back to square one, and worse. She'd been inches from a killer, and what had she done? Frozen. Her cheeks coloured with shame and hurt.

And what about Dempsey? She shut him out and kept him at arm's length, never letting him get close. Why? Because thinking about their night together reminded her of what preceded it? Or was it something else, something deeper – her own fear of getting hurt? He was the only person she could imagine being honest with about her feelings; about the recurring nightmares that woke her in the small hours, dry-mouthed and terrified. About how she kept putting herself on the line because she desperately needed to take back some control - to do something good and put the memory of Delaney to rest once and for all.

She was angry. She had to acknowledge it to herself. Stop taking it out on Dempsey. _You always hurt the ones you love _came the small voice in her head. "Is that right, Harriet?" she said aloud, and smiled a small, wry smile.

She would talk to him. She owed her partner that. Open up, and try not to shy away from whatever that might lead to. _You can get in a car with a stranger who is quite possibly – and actually was – a maniac, but letting someone who cares for you into your life seems to scare you more_. Crazy.

In the meantime, lying here helplessly was driving her insane. Spikings had reluctantly left the Suitor case files at her request, and they sat in a thick pile on the bedside table. Now she picked them up and began at the beginning.

* * *

An hour later, she was still pouring over them, unaware of the passage of time. She hadn't lingered for long on the crime scene photographs; they were seared into her memory anyway; but she looked again and again at the maps of body locations and the details of how they were left, searching for a pattern.

When she reached the middle of the file, her eyes fell on the note about the rings in Chas's neat handwriting. Pasted under it was the address of the toyshop that presumably, Dempsey had gone to check out. _Bojangles_, she read. _Based in East Finchley. Sells primarily toys, and paraphernalia for children's' parties. Specialises in handmade goods, especially wooden toys imported from Norway. Stockist of designer crackers containing rings of same make as perp deposits on body. Recommend speaking with owner re purchase history. _

Harry scanned down the page quickly. East Finchley, she thought idly – it's on the Northern line, just like King's Cross. North London again. She went to turn the page, but something stopped her. She read the item again more slowly. _Specialises in handmade goods, especially wooden toys_… why did that sentence niggle? Something about…

She rubbed her aching head, shut her eyes and reluctantly took herself back to last night and York Way. Getting into the man's car. The sweet smell. Unconsciously, her breathing quickened as she remembered the casual way he had glanced at her. As they had pulled away, she had looked at the back seat, and what had she seen? Wooden animals. Wooden toys. Could be a coincidence – could it?

"Damn it!" she shouted into the empty room. In seconds, she was out of bed. Thank God Dempsey had thought to bring her clothes to the hospital. She had to get out of here – the nurses would just have to deal with that.


	10. Chapter 10

He was so quick it took Dempsey completely by surprise. He had recognised his adversary on sight, so he had the advantage. As Dempsey went for his gun, the killer's hand came out piston-like and grabbed his wrist. He pushed his arm viciously back, knocking him off balance.

Then his knee slammed into Dempsey's groin. Dempsey doubled over and sank to the floor but as he did so, he reached out and grabbed clothing. The man was pulled down with him and then Dempsey, crazed with anger and pain, punched him hard in the face. The killer was stunned but quickly retaliated with a low blow to the stomach. The two men rolled on the floor, pummelling one another.

Dempsey was fit and lean and the killer had at least ten years on him but his strength was formidable – the strength of the mad.

They were as close as lovers. Dempsey could hear his shallow gasps; smell his acrid breath. Eventually, with a glancing blow to the man's jaw, he gained the upper hand. Straddling Mr Jenkins, he pinned his arms above his head and looked at him clearly for the first time. S_o very unremarkable _he thought. Mr Jenkins stared back at him, eyes brimming with cold hatred.

Dempsey glanced wildly around the shop. Where was the telephone, he couldn't see it. Perhaps it was behind the counter, or more likely in a backroom. Hell, why didn't he have any handcuffs with him? He weighed up his options. He could wait for someone to come but that held no guarantees. He could walk the man outside, get him to lie down in the middle of the street - but he might try something out in the open. Better to keep him in a confined space.

Then he remembered the boy. "Jack!" he shouted. His captive was limp now, regarding him stonily.

"He won't hear you," he said. "He's on his break. His girlfriend works around the corner. He'll be with her."

Dempsey deliberated. Wait for Jack or take control? After a couple of seconds, he made the decision. Letting go of the man's left hand, he reached under his jacket and retrieved the gun. He pointed it at the killer.

_I could just shoot him_, he thought. In his mind's eye, he saw the women: battered, bludgeoned and humiliated - tragic pawns in this man's sadistic games. He saw Harry, lying like a ragdoll on the pavement. His finger tensed on the trigger. No. It was tempting – and it would be so easy to claim self-defence - but he had to take him alive.

He patted the killers' pockets: empty. Quickly, he got to his feet, the gun trained on him.

"Stay where you are."

He moved to the shop door and with one hand, shot home the top bolt then turned the 'OPEN' sign in the window around.

"Where's your phone?"

"There's one in the back office."

"Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna stand up nice and slow and we're gonna walk to that phone. One wrong move, and a bullet's gonna shatter your lower vertebrae. Believe me, I don't need any encouragement. Just scratchin' your nose'll be enough. A big part of me wants to do it right now and be done with it."

Mr Jenkins's lip curled. "I'm sure."

"Alright, up!" said Dempsey.

"Now walk, like I said. Keep your hands in the air."

They proceeded through the door, into a narrow corridor. Adrenalin was coursing through Dempsey's system, but he felt in control. He kept the gun muzzle pressed into the man's spine.

"It's in there," he gestured to an open door to their left. Dempsey nudged him and they entered the room. It was a small office, sparsely furnished with a threadbare sofa and an old desk. There was a black and white television set on a small stand in the corner. On the desk was a telephone.

Dempsey pushed the killer. "Sit on the sofa."

He moved to the desk and lifted the receiver with his free hand. It was going to be tricky to do this one-handed, but needs must. Suddenly, there was a sound in the corridor. Dempsey looked. Jack was standing in the doorway, his mouth open.

"What's going on?"

In the split second that Dempsey's eyes left his face, the killer sprang to his feet and was across the room.

"Freeze!" screamed Dempsey. The man had produced a small sharp knife from somewhere; whether it had been concealed in the sofa or elsewhere on his person, Dempsey would never know. It happened very quickly. He grabbed Jack and pressed the knife into the flesh of his throat, pushing him forward so that he was between them.

"Why didn't you just shoot me, Officer? Between you and your partner… I'm disappointed by the quality of opponent. Very disappointed."

Dempsey had dropped the phone and was trying to gauge whether he could get a shot at the man. The trouble was, Jack was so tall. He looked at Dempsey wordlessly, eyes bulging in terror. There was a deepening red mark on his pale throat as the knife dug into it.

Mr Jenkins backed out of the door. Dempsey followed, gun still pointed. He spoke softly to the boy.

"Just stay calm, Jack. Don't panic, and you'll be okay," He tried to reassure him with his eyes. Jack's face was a mask of fear and incomprehension.

The killer was heading for the back door at the end of the corridor. When he was almost there, he suddenly reached down and slashed Jack viciously in his side, ripping through the thin material of his t-shirt. Blood spurted. Jack screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching himself. Then the killer pushed open the door and ran.

Dempsey looked down at Jack. Blood was pouring from his wound, but he couldn't stop and help him. "Try and get to the phone. Call the police!" he shouted, and ran out of the door after the Suitor.


	11. Chapter 11

_These are the final two chapters - posted together because the final one is really only an afterward. thanks for the wonderfully constructive comments x _

* * *

There was a small yard at the back of the shop, and the killer ran through it into the alleyway beyond, veering to the right. Dempsey followed him, all the while trying for clear shot.

He fired but missed. At the far end of the alley was a redbrick, derelict-looking building surrounded by a chain link fence. _Danger. No Trespassing_ a sign read. With incredible agility, the man scaled the fence and dropped to the other side. He headed straight for the building.

Dempsey followed. _He's planned his escape – he knows this place,_ he thought instinctively as he jumped down into a mass of overgrown weeds. The killer vanished through a grey metal door that was swinging off its hinges.

He knew the dangers. An enclosed space. A dangerous, unfamiliar building. But he had no choice – he couldn't allow the Suitor to escape again. He pulled open the door.

Inside it was gloomy and windowless. He moved cautiously, taking in the graffiti, the piles of dusty rubbish. There were holes in the floor where damp had corroded the floorboards. Carefully, he crossed the room and passed through another door into a larger space that was full of dusty benches. A foul stench hung in the air: decaying food, mustiness. It was a place for rats and tramps to shelter, but there was no sign of Mr Jenkins. Dempsey stopped, strained his ears.

Nothing. Hugging the wall, he advanced quietly until he reached another doorway. The building seemed to be made up of large interconnecting rooms. He listened again. Only the sound of his own breath. Finger on the trigger, he rounded the corner.

Suddenly an arm came around his neck and a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Before he could react, a foot tripped him; he fell to the ground. The gun was kicked out of his hand and he watched it skitter across the floor and disappear through a gap in the floorboards. He swore.

The Suitor had waited for him. He'd been so intent on pursuit of his prey, he hadn't really believed the man might fight back. Now he was unarmed, and a knife was at his throat.

The killer controlled him with his voice.

"I'll give the orders now, Officer."

There was a mouldy green armchair in the corner of the room and he was pushed awkwardly towards it. A musty rug on the floor and beer cans strewn around created a strange parody of a living room setting.

"This is the perfect place to entertain you," said the Suitor into his neck, "I have everything I need to hand."

He pushed Dempsey into the chair, holding the knife close. With his free hand, he reached down into the burst stuffing and retrieved a thick reel of electric cable.

When Dempsey saw it, he pushed himself forwards to get up but with lightening speed, the man lassoed the cable around both the chair and him. He struggled and in response, the man synched it so tightly that he groaned in pain. He was afraid one of his ribs would crack as he fought to breath.

"Calm, calm," muttered the man, hearing his desperate gasps. "It's so much easier when you don't struggle, see?"

He used more cable to bind his feet and hands.

"You're probably wondering why I'm bothering to do all this, why I don't just stab you to death," the man said flatly.

"Don't worry, that's coming. But I want to talk to you first, to make your acquaintance. I only wish we had more time." He looked genuinely regretful.

Dempsey was trussed and helpless. His eyes were on the knife, much bigger and longer than the one in the shop. This place was a giant trap it seemed; he had walked into the killer's personal death playground. Now he was pacing up and down. There were sweat stains on the thin material of his cardigan and his face was flushed, mottled pink. Dempsey's stomach twisted in revulsion.

"What would you have to talk to me about, loser? You're pathetic, you know that?"

The Suitor laughed. "Pathetic am I, eh? What's an American doing in the British police anyway? Were you expelled from your own?"

"Only same as anyone else in the force. Tryin' to clean the streets of scum like you."

Then he was angry. "Oh yes, that's right, _scum_. I'll tell you what scum is. Those tarts, that's what! I was helping them, trying to save them from themselves. Why doesn't anybody understand that?"

He looked away for a moment, his face consumed with rage and something else – a kind of hunger. He's completely crazy, thought Dempsey. Nuts, dingbats, loony.

He tried to think of something to say, but in the end he just kept silent. He fought to stop himself from descending into panic. _Christ,_ _how're you gonna get yourself out of this one?_ Jack. Jack was his only hope. Had he managed to crawl to the phone? Or was he lying in a pool of blood, passed out in the hallway? God, let it be the former.

The Suitor had been moving restlessly, but now he turned on him.

"Your colleague," he said. "She came looking for me. Our parting last time was impromptu, but the reunion will be so sweet. She was such a natural whore. They all are, when you scratch the surface. Oh, they try and dress themselves up to look respectable, but they can't hide their real natures. At least the street girls don't pretend to be anything else."

"They're people, same as me an' you." He knew the words were meaningless.

The Suitor appeared not to hear. His mind was elsewhere.

"The Sergeant though," he said thoughtfully, "You have no idea how much it excited me to see how easily she exposed her true self. You let bitches like that into the police," he laughed scornfully, "it makes you a laughing stock, do you realise?"

"I believe you're referring to me?" a cut glass voice rang out across the room. The two men looked. To Dempsey, it was as if an angel had descended into Hell. Makepeace.

She stood among the dusty newspapers and detritus, her gun pointed at the Suitor. Although her face was bruised and the bandage on the side of her head clearly visible, her hands were steady.

"Hello again," she gazed unflinchingly at him.

"Twice in 24 hours." Her voice was strong, "But this is where it ends, Jenkins. You terrorised me but I'm the last woman you'll ever hurt."

"You came back to me, Sergeant."

She ignored him. "Drop your weapon and get face down on the ground." She glanced at Dempsey. Fleetingly, their eyes locked.

The Suitor didn't move. "Get down, like she said!" shouted Dempsey from his prone position. But the man only smiled.

Then he began to walk towards Harry, speaking in his monotone voice.

"You're so very beautiful, did anyone ever tell you that?"

"I said on the ground!" she yelled at him, every muscle in her body screaming with tension, but he kept walking. He was five metres away, knife in hand, when she pulled the trigger. The bullet hit him between the eyes and threw him back across the room. Then he was still. Blood from the exit wound spread around his head in a large, black halo.

Harry lowered her gun slowly. She looked at Dempsey. "Jack told me where to find you," she said. "Apparently, he came here quite often, said he was giving food to dossers. Heaven knows what he was really doing."

"Plannin' his next sick crime, I'll bet. How's Jack?"

"I heard him shouting when I got to the door. He'd crawled into the shop. He's lost a fair bit of blood, but he managed to let me in. I called for back up and an ambulance. Should be here about now."

"How'd you…?"

She held up her hand. "Let's get out of here. Then I'll tell you everything."

She walked over to the Suitor's body, looked down at it for a while.

"So much hatred," she said softly. "How can somebody walk around with that much hatred? You know, all I want to do right now is to find Tina and tell her we got him. Isn't that funny?"

"Yeah, real funny Harry," he smiled at her weakly, blinked back a tear. "Now are you gonna untie me or what?"


	12. Chapter 12

Afterward.

In the end, the SI-10 office party did take place before Christmas: two days before, to be precise. All in all, it was a rather subdued affair. They'd caught the Suitor but in the aftermath, plenty of evidence was discovered – mementoes, photos, and maps – to suggest that his four official victims might only be the tip of the iceberg. With a man his age, his activities of the past twenty years could only be guessed at. It was a sobering thought, and Spikings knew there would be bad news and heartbreak for more families come the New Year.

It turned out that the police profile had fit Albert Jenkins pretty closely after all. The toys and child's car seat were simply a ruse to put his victims at ease. He had lived alone above the toyshop for many years and really seemed to have been a classic loner; they were still searching to find any friends or family members at all: there was the possibility of an aunt in Australia. He had a long list of acquaintances, but when interviewed, they invariably said they never really knew him other than on a superficial level.

One good thing was that Jack was alright. He had needed 14 stitches in his side, but the wound hadn't been deep enough to puncture any vital organs. He was in shock, not least with regard to the true identity of his boss, but otherwise unharmed.

As the team celebrated in the pub close to SI-10 headquarters, Spikings gave Harry a toast. "Good work," he said, "Now bugger off for a couple of days, Sergeant. You've earned a break. And take the Yank with you."

It wasn't too late when Dempsey and Harry left the party, not really tipsy but in better spirits than either of them had been for a long time. Tomorrow, they would travel to Winfield Hall and spend Christmas with her father. She had made it very clear to Dempsey how much she wanted him to be there.

They took at cab to her street, and then he insisted on escorting her to her house. She leaned into him as they walked through the softly falling snow.

"You know, there's something I need to say to you," she began. The street was quiet enough to feel private.

"What's that?" he was full of the warm buzz of alcohol and her presence.

"I owe you an apology. I know I've been hard to be around these past few weeks,"

"Naah, you've been okay," he lied. "Anyway, I give as good as I get. Let's forget it. Peace on earth, remember?" he squeezed her arm.

"I don't want to forget it,' She stopped and faced him.

"I did some thinking when I was lying in hospital. I haven't been fair to you. You were right. The Delaney job…. it affected me badly, and I didn't want to acknowledge it, not to you, or to myself."

"I've been seriously questioning whether I'm really fit to work in SI-10."

"Harry, you're a great police officer. You know that."

"I didn't, though," she gave a short laugh, tinged with sadness. "I've felt so… impotent."

"Do you still feel that way?"

"That's the funny thing," she said. "Catching Jenkins. Shooting him… it's terrible that I had to take a life, but it seems to have brought me some peace. I don't think I'm afraid anymore."

"Hey listen, don't be worrying about shootin' that scum. Hell, I wish I could've done it too – several times over…"

She nodded. "I know. It shouldn't have made me feel good, but it did."

"It's natural, babe,"

He put an arm around her, moved to continue walking, but she held him back.

"There's something else," she took a deep breath. "I haven't been honest with myself about my feelings for you. About what happened that night… with us."

He dropped his arm, looked into her face. "Yeah?"

She looked up at him. "I do have feelings for you, James. Strong feelings. I don't know… it's just hard to acknowledge them. The job. The team. I told myself..."

"I know what you told yourself," he said quietly.

"But I realised something the other day,"

"What?"

"Blocking everything out isn't fair to either of us. It's not an ideal situation, but what is? I don't want to lose you, that's all I know."

"You really mean that?"

"I do."

He struggled to keep the giant-sized grin from splitting his face in two.

"Harry," he cupped her face gently in his hands, careful to avoid the bruises that still coloured her temple, "that's the best Christmas present I've ever had. Are you saying you want to give us a go?"

"I'm saying I need to take it slowly, but that yes, I want to give 'us' a go."

They kissed for a long while. Then they walked hand in hand to her house.

It was late when he left. They embraced on the doorstep.

"Night, angel. See you in the morning. This is gonna be a good Christmas."

She smiled, kissed him one last time. "Yes," she said, "I think it is."

Harry closed the door behind her and went up to bed. That night she slept deeply, her dreams sweet and peaceful.

The End.


End file.
